Once again, the tour guide makes the announcement that the Statue of Liberty will be visible soon. I am compelled forward, to the bow once more, hands on the railing, eyes scanning the river for the first sign of the statue. I feel Logan beside me, and he puts his arm around my waist. He’s quiet, letting me experience it in my own time. Letting me feel it, I think.
There it is. God, so vast. Arm raised high, torch flames looking as if they could flicker alight at any moment, sleeve tumbling down her arm, the other hand wrapped around that big book, on which—so says the guide—is written the date of the Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776. Two days after my birthday. Her full title isLiberty Enlightening the World, and she represents Libertas, the Roman goddess.
I am dizzy from the overlap of memory and reality.
I could close my eyes and be fourteen.
I could turn my head and see Mama and Papa.
I am so tempted to turn my head, to look. But I do not. It is just a memory, a precious memory. I lean into Logan, and focus on each breath.
“You remember something?” He asks.
I nod against his shirt. “Yes. But I’m not sure how to put it into words. I mean, it’s a simple memory, really. Us, the three of us, on a boat just like this, about to see the statue. Being a young girl in a new place. I think we’d just come here a few days before. I was unsure of so much. Trying to be adult about it, but really, I was just fourteen.”
“A big change for anyone, much less a girl at that age.”
I nod. “Yes, exactly. It was very scary. I didn’t understand—oh, so many things. Why everyone was in such a rush, for one, and why everyone seemed to be so rude, for another.”
Logan laughs. “Ah, New York. Those aspects of this city are a culture shock for people born in the States, much less someone like you from a much slower-paced, friendlier place like Spain.”
“What was it like for you, when you moved here?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Oh man, it was... kind of the same, honestly. I mean, I’d already been stationed in Kuwait and fought combat missions in Iraq, flipped houses in Chicago. So... I wasn’t a kid, you know? But it was still a culture shock. Everything happens so fast, here. Like you said, everyone is in a rush, you’re always getting jostled and told to hurry it up. Plus, there’s just... somuch. You could live your entire life in this city and there’d still be things you’ve never seen, places you’ve never been, restaurants you’ve never heard of.”
“I get that feeling too, the little of it I’ve seen.”
“It’s weird, to me, how you can have been here since you were fourteen and still know nothing about the city.”
“Not by choice.”
“No, that’s for sure. I get it. It’s just... weird.” A shrug. “Twelve years, and it’s like you’re seeing it for the first time.”
“Because I am, really.”
“And that’s why we’re here, babe. I want your memories of New York to be of me, of us. I want... I want to give you good memories.”
I melt into him. “Every day I spend with you, it’s a good memory.”
“Good answer, sweetheart, but we gotta make you some new ones, somerealmemories. That’s what today is about.”
I watch the statue drift past us as we glide around it, across the bay and to the opposite side of the island. We sit again, once the statue is out of sight, and the rest of the trip is quiet, slow, and peaceful. I hold Logan’s hand and listen to the tour guide, and enjoy the sun on my face.
By the time we’ve returned to the dock, it’s well past lunchtime, and my stomach is grumbling, so Logan hails another Uber and has us taken to Times Square, another place I’ve never been, or don’t remember coming. The driver deposits us at the edge of the square, and we get out, make our way on foot through the bustling crowds to the giant red staircase. I look around in awe at the myriad flashing lights and mammoth screens and endless advertisements, finding it hard to breathe from the grandeur of the place, the chaotic wilderness of lights and lives and frenzied exuberance.
There are thousands of people, just like us, taking photographs, posing for selfies, pointing, just sitting and taking it in. After a moment, Logan leads me across the square, consulting his phone now and again. A map, directions to something. A restaurant, I assume. Indeed, he guides us unerringly to a little place not far from the square itself, called Ellen’s Stardust Diner. It doesn’t look too impressive from the outside, and indeed, the interior is that of an aging diner, vinyl seats and Formica tables. But once we’re seated and we’ve ordered food, I see why he brought me here.
The servers all sing.
I smile the entire time as a flamboyant young man with bouffant red hair climbs up on a little catwalk between a row of booths, microphone to his mouth, singing an old show tune for all he is worth. And then, after a moment, a girl starts singing a different song, and while she’s singing she’s inputting an order and carrying a glass of soda to a table, and then she’s dancing past the tables and shaking her butt and holding the end note until I begin to wonder if her lungs can possibly contain any more oxygen. The whole lunch is like that, me watching the waitstaff singing and forgetting to eat, while Logan watches me.
And then, once we’re done eating, Logan leads us back out to the square, and to a theater a block away, where he buys ticketsfor a show calledAladdin. A real Broadway show? I’m so excited for that it’s hard to contain it, and I find myself wishing the day would pass more swiftly, so it would be seven o’clock sooner. But then, I don’t want to miss anything else Logan has planned for us.
Which, apparently, entails shopping.
We walk to Fifth Avenue, and when we reach the intersection and stand on the corner, he sweeps his hand at the array of shops, a grin on his face. “Pauper me, Isabel.”
“Pauper you?”
